A Walking Shadow
by Moonstarer
Summary: Gil Grissom comes face to face with one of the crimes he hates most. Can he find a way to stop it, or will his presence make things even worse? WARNING: This story concerns Domestic Violence and is rated M because of this.
1. A Blasted Heath

-1**WARNING: This story concerns Domestic Violence and is rated M**

Gil Grissom and all other characters and situations related to CSI: still belong to CBS, Anthony Zuicker et al

The remaining characters and situations are all too common in this world.

Thanks to W. Shakespeare for the quotes, including all titles.

No profit will be made from this work.

_**Jayne's POV**_

There's a stranger in my living room.

I don't know who he is or why he's here. My husband, John, stopped letting me in on his plans years ago.

All I do know is that the man isn't here by choice. He's tied into a wheelchair and there's a black bag tied over his head. Judging by the silence he's also been gagged in some way.

John was late getting back from work, it's not unusual, but a problem for me, I'm expected to have his meal ready and edible whenever he gets in, although I have no way of knowing when that will be.

Tonight he got back and, when I went to greet him as I'm expected to, he shoved me back into the kitchen telling me not to come out until he came for me.

Ten minutes later he dragged me out of the kitchen and pulled me next door into the lounge. He pointed at the stranger and told me not to touch him or speak to him. I'm not even meant to go into that room unless John is with me. I must have looked horrified, but my husband just told me to be grateful that I won't have to clean in there for a while. Then he shooed me back into the hall and told me to get on with dinner. When I tried to ask if I should prepare any food for the man I got a punch in the stomach. I wasn't told to include the man, so I should have known I wasn't meant to.

Finally it's bedtime. John forced me to participate in the usual routine, and now I'm lying staring at the ceiling. I need to go to the bathroom and clean myself up, but it's downstairs, where the man is. John always comes searching for me if he wakes up and I'm not in bed. I know if he does that tonight he'll assume I've been talking to his captive, even if I go nowhere near him.

My bladder is forcing a decision; I creep downstairs and go straight to the bathroom, past the closed lounge and kitchen doors. I use the toilet and clean myself as best I can, then set off to make the journey back up to our room.

I can hear faint sounds coming from the lounge as I pass. Against my instincts I find myself opening the door, as silently as possible, I don't want to risk disturbing the man upstairs.

I creep inside the familiar room furnished with old office desks and chairs, housewarming gifts from John's uncle, just to get us on our feet in our first home. John's never considered it important to replace them with proper furniture in the last fifteen years, until they actually fall to bits I don't suppose he ever will. The room is illuminated by the orange glow of the street lamp outside. It picks out the holes in the walls chased out when John rewired the house when we first moved in, but never got around to filling in afterwards. For a moment I'm glad that the stranger can't see, because I am ashamed of the state of my home.

The man in the wheelchair is unaware of my presence, the thick cloth of the bag over his head must have muffled any sound I made. For a few moments I watch him as he rocks his body to and fro, apparently trying to get the wheels to move. He's doing pretty well, something will happen in a minute.

Then I see it. I grab the handles of the chair and hiss "Stop" as loudly as I dare. The captive freezes. I apologise for scaring him, I'm _very _good at apologies. Then I explain what I've seen to the man.

John's 'thing' is electronics, he's not any kind of genius, but he can be pretty good if there's not much imagination needed. He has alarmed the wheelchair. Thin wires are everywhere, over the places where the man is bound, through the chair's wheels and even threaded through the loops around the bottom of the hood. Breaking or straining any of the loops would set off an alarm and alert John to what is happening.

I know that if he hears the alarms go off the captive and I will both pay. I place my hands on his shoulders to keep him still and beg him not to move again. Eventually the heavy black bag moves as the head inside it nods. I touch his hand gently and thank him. I just wish I was brave enough to find another way out.

I leave the room and creep back upstairs. Even in sleep John is controlling, he has managed to leave just a narrow strip of the queen size bed to sleep on, and the entire king-sized quilt is wrapped around his body. I try to get what sleep I can, but cold, discomfort and anxiety all conspire to keep me awake for the remainder of the night.

I spend most of the next day trying to keep out of John's way and wondering what to do. I suppose most people would wonder why I don't just call the police, but I've had sixteen years of training in what will happen if I disobey John, even unintentionally. Besides, the only telephone in the house is my husband's cell, kept securely in his pocket.

I can only avoid him for so long. In some ways I've been lucky today. Often he insists I stay in the same room as him, just sitting, waiting to be told what to do next. As always when John has a new 'toy' he has barely noticed my existence today, but now he's started getting hungry.

I make dinner for both of us. As we finish eating John stares at the leftovers.

"There's too little to bother freezing. Bring the dish, a spoon and a glass of water... Put a straw in it." he adds as an after thought.

I follow him from the kitchen-diner to the lounge. I put the food and water on the nearby desk as John removes the bag from his captive's head. As it comes off I see I was right about the gag. I'm not surprised to see it's made up of strips of electrical insulating tape.

The captive is at least ten years older than us, maybe his late forties or early fifties? I've never been good at estimating age. His hair is thick and curly and the bag, combined with what is probably anxious sweat has left it matted and increased the contrast between dark and white strands. Beneath a furrowed brow two dark blue eyes blink and squint, trying to refocus after so long in the dark.

Before he removes the tape John makes clear the consequences of either of us making a sound or any other attempt to communicate. The hostage nods his understanding, the gag is removed and I begin carefully spoon feeding the man, offering him sips of water between mouthfuls.

Once the food is gone I reach for a tissue so I can remove stray bits of food from the man's face and beard, but I've exceeded my remit and I'm swept sideways by a blow which knocks me to the floor.

As John follows up with a fist to the side of my head the man in the chair shouts "Stop.". John does, but only so he can concentrate on punching the bound man a couple of times before replacing the gag.

Dazed, I push myself up on my elbows, I wish once again that the previous owner had chosen something other than thin brown carpet tiles for the floor. I'm fighting the strong urge to crawl under the office desk beside me, trying to escape only irritates John more.

In spite of his own pain John's victim's eyes seek out mine. There's sympathy there, but I sense he's also willing me to have the strength to stop just surviving and fight. He's relying on me to get him out of this and I break the contact in shame, I have nothing left to offer anyone.

I finally force myself to look at the stranger again, now I see anger and frustration in his eyes too. Nausea is starting to build inside me. When I see that emotion in John's green eyes it is the precursor to violence. Now the wildness of John's stare is focussing on me as John turns to check what his victim is looking at.

Enraged that we seem to have found a way to communicate despite his warnings, John flies into one of his rages. Too livid to direct his fury at a specific target at first he kicks out, sending the wheelchair backwards despite its brakes.

Suddenly a piercing siren shrieks through the room. John dives to reset the alarm, and I try and see what he does, but I automatically removed my glasses and put them safe when I was first knocked down and now I can't see the details of John's actions.

As soon as the noise stops John whips round to focus on me again. I see the madness in the green eyes behind the black framed glasses and instinctively curl up, using my arms to try and protect my head. His attacks have left me with temporary hearing problems before, I don't want them to become permanent.

The blows rain down and I try to put myself in a different place for a while. My vision turns white, sparkling lights flickering in front of my eyes, there's a roaring in my ears.

Suddenly it's over. There was a time when John would cry at this point, apologising and swearing it would never happen again. He doesn't bother with any of that now, just like I eventually stopped bothering to believe him.

I should have left him then, but I had no friends, no confidence and, by then, no job. I want to weep for who I once was, but there's no time for that now.

The front door slams, he often heads out after one of these sessions, unfortunately it's impossible to know how long he'll be gone.

I look up at the hostage. At some point while I was unaware of the world John has replaced the hood, but as I shakily replace my glasses I realise he hasn't bothered to wire it back into the alarm.

Struggling to my feet I stumble toward the man and remove the bag. I pull off the tape too, but keep it carefully, I'll need to put it back over his mouth before John returns.

The man adjusts to the light more quickly this time. He looks at me with concern and asks me if I'm OK. I nod, but don't meet his piercing gaze. As usual my ribs, spine and abdomen have taken the brunt of it, very little shows elsewhere.

"What's your name?" he asks me.

"Jayne," I mumble, but his gentle tone encourages me to meet his eyes once more.

"I'm Gil."

He's looking at me without judgement. I can tell he's afraid, but he's not asking me to help him. He must realise how terrified I am.

The very fact that he's not pushing me makes me determined that, just for once, I am going to do something. I duck down beside the wheelchair.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

"Screwing my courage to the sticking place" I reply, squinting up at him briefly from where I'm trying to locate the alarm box.

A lopsided smile appears on his face and he blinks slowly as he reassesses his initial view of me.

"Shakespeare, _Macbeth_." he identifies correctly.

Managing to remember that quote is a confidence boost. It gives my brain the impetus to speed up a little as I stare at the alarm, trying to overcome years of conditioning to hide any signs of intelligence. John does not like it when I solve problems faster than him.

After a few minutes of double checking I take a risk, soon I place a nine volt battery in Gil's hand. Carefully I start to trace wires, trying to find any back up power supply. As I do so Gil asks if I know why my husband chose to abduct him.

"A dare probably, or maybe a bet."

I explain that, provided you're male, John is easy o manipulate.

It started with minor challenges to steal things, not necessarily valuables, but things that were hard to conceal, like a tray from a burger bar. John would do anything suggested in this way so he could be part of a group. His electronics skills led to challenges like perpetual 'phone cards or reading and altering information encoded on magnetic strips.

Eventually a guy named Anthony came on the scene, and I started to notice that John's challenges were moving in less 'harmless' directions. I didn't dare mention that to John. Noticing things he hasn't is one of the worst things I can do.

If anyone knows why John has kidnapped Gil, it's more likely to be Anthony than John.

Finally, I'm as sure as possible that the alarm has been disabled. I managed to get back on my feet, then tell Gil I'm going to the kitchen to fetch a knife. I can't wheel him with me, despite the alarm no longer working the wires pass through the wheel spokes and will need to be cut if the chair is to move.

I hurry back quickly and manage to saw through the wire and ropes restraining Gil's right hand before I freeze. There are footsteps on the sidewalk in front of the house and when I look towards the net-curtained window I see a far too familiar shape.

We have a couple of minutes at most before John walks in. I look at Gil, there's no way I can make it look like I haven't tried to free him.

Turning back to the window I stand, paralysed by fear...

A/N The second and final chapter of this story will be going up immediately, I want to split the story here, but not for cliff-hanger purposes.


	2. Birnam Wood

-1**WARNING: This story concerns Domestic Violence and is rated M**

Gil Grissom and all other characters and situations related to CSI: still belong to CBS, Anthony Zuicker et al

The remaining characters and situations are all too common in this world.

Thanks to W. Shakespeare for the quotes, including all titles.

No profit will be made from this work.

_**Grissom's POV**_

Suddenly she freezes, something has frightened her even more.

"Jayne," I ask, keeping my voice as gentle as possible, "is he coming back?"

I get the slightest of nods in response as she stares out of the window.

Worried that she's going to bolt I reach out and grab her wrist with my only free hand. Jayne flinches and I relax my grip as much as I dare. I need to get her attention and keep her here until we have a plan. If she runs now we could both get beaten and never have such a good chance at getting away from her husband again.

I call her name again. I ask her to be brave, I ask her to give me the knife, and then I ask the biggest thing of all.

"I need you to distract John, try and keep him out of this room for a few minutes, buy me the time to get myself free." She's shaking her head.

"I won't leave without you, I'll get to you as fast as I can."

Jayne is still shaking her head, she has no reason to trust me.

"I know you're scared of him, but whatever happens now he's going to get angry, it's very obvious that you've tried to help me. At least if you can get me the time to finish freeing myself I can be at your side." I pull on her arm gently until she turns to face me. "I won't let you down, Jayne." I drop my grip to allow her space to think.

She stares at me for a few moments. I can hear footsteps on the path outside. So can Jayne. Suddenly she puts the handle of the knife into my hand and dashes through the door which leads to the hallway, quickly closing it behind her.

I set to work on freeing myself even as hear her going up the stairs and him inserting a key into the door. As John sees Jayne on the stairs he yells at her to come back down. My left hand is free now and I lean down to work on my right ankle where it is tied to the footrest of the wheelchair.

I am grateful when Jayne finds the courage to say "no" to her husband before I hear her move up the last few steps. Unfortunately I also hear how heavy the chasing footsteps that follow her sound.

My right leg comes free and I work as hard as I can on the final restraint. I need to summon help and get to Jayne.

Finally I'm loose. I move as fast as I can manage with stiffened joints. I need to find a 'phone.

I check myself first, my wallet and keys are still in my pockets, but my cell was clipped to my belt and has gone missing. Looking around the lounge I see no signs of a 'phone, I hope that means the house 'phone is in the hall.

As I enter the hallway I am disappointed, there is no sign of one. I go to open the front door, hoping the couple upstairs won't hear me. I don't want John to come storming down here, nor do I want Jayne to think I'm abandoning her.

Thankfully I see a call box on the corner of the street, but I'm reluctant to leave Jayne alone much longer. I spot a couple of boys lounging nearby and yell to them to dial 911, ask for the police and give this address.

They ask what's in it for them. Pulling out my wallet I offer fifty dollars, ten now, and the rest when the cops get here. They agree, and as one runs over for the first instalment I tell him to make sure he tells dispatch that CSI Grissom told him to call. He confirms my name then sets off. I head back inside, leaving the door unlatched.

I make sure I leave the knife behind as I head upstairs, I don't have any skills for it to give me an advantage, and I don't want to risk a weapon getting into John's hands.

John and I are around the same height, but I have a broader build and more mass, I hope that will help balance out the difference in our ages. My main aim is to get the bastard off Jayne, then keep him occupied until the police arrive.

I just hope the boys made the call and didn't decide that $10 was enough for them.

As I climb the stairs as fast as I can manage I look around. Every single door I see on both levels has a hole in it from being kicked. The banister rail creaks under my weight and I see that most of the supporting rods have also been kicked away. Evidence of violence is everywhere.

I thought I'd find John and Jayne in the Master bedroom at the front of the house but now I hear sounds from one of the rooms at the rear, to my left as I reach the top of the stairs.

I push the door open quietly. There are two more office desks in here. One overflows with bits and pieces of electronics, mostly looking like scrap. The other desk has art equipment but to my trained eye it seems as though the items there are rarely touched. I take all this in quickly before I focus on something that sickens me.

Jayne is on the floor, whimpering, John is bent over her, snarling like the animal he is.

Finally, my own anger boils over. I have always admitted that one of the things I find hardest to remain objective about is men who beat up their wives, but this has been the first time I've been forced to witness such acts in person, rather than arriving to deal with the aftermath at a crime scene.

Adrenaline surges through my body. I drag John back by the neck of his scruffy T-shirt and as he turns to look at me in surprise I land a lucky sucker punch, knocking him backwards onto the floor.

Quickly I roll him onto his stomach, before he can pull himself together enough to fight back. I kneel so that my legs pin his to the floor and hold his wrists behind his back. If necessary I will find the strength to stay like this until the police arrive.

I take a few breaths, calming myself, my rage may have helped me overcome this man, but the last thing Jayne needs is to have another violently angry man in the room with her.

Fortunately Jayne is thinking of other things. Obviously in pain she's dragging herself over to one of the desks. Reaching into a drawer she produces a roll of parcel tape.

I hold John's wrists for her to tape together. Jayne's hands shake, but she manages to do it. I take the tape from her and fasten his legs. I make sure that there are no scissors or other blades within his reach, then get to my feet. I know I should stay with John, but my priority is his wife.

As I help Jayne to stand I realise she isn't much taller than Joy, the tiny night receptionist at the Crime Lab who still insists on calling me 'Doctor Grissom' despite the years she's been with us. I wonder if John deliberately picked Jayne out because she was so much smaller than his 'own size'?

I open the door and usher her ahead of me out of the room. I avoid touching her, not wanting to scare her further but, as I encourage her to go downstairs she gradually moves closer to my side. Eventually I tentatively place my arm around her shoulders. When she moves closer still I let it rest there.

I feel Jayne trembling at my side. I grab a coat from the stand in the hall, making sure it isn't one of his. I drape it around her shoulders and we sit together on the lowest steps of the staircase.

Jayne is shivering now, and rests her head on my shoulder while I just listen, both for movement upstairs and for approaching sirens.

All at once there's movement at the door. Jayne stiffens then turns and holds onto me tightly, hiding her face in my armpit. I'm not used to women grabbing me like this, but I do my best to soothe her while dealing with my own anxiety.

Fortunately it turns out to be one of the boys I sent to the call box. He claims he can hear the squad cars approaching and wants the rest of the money.

I remind him that the deal was he'd get paid when the police _arrive_ and send him out to flag down the cars and send the officers in here.

Soon the police are at the door. I confirm that I am CSI Grissom. They know I was abducted, which leaves me with less to explain. I send them upstairs to arrest John, and remind them to treat the whole house as a crime scene.

I bring Jayne outside while her husband is dragged out in handcuffs. I pay off the boys and request an ambulance for Jayne. I'll go to the hospital with her, I don't want her to have to be alone, and I guess I should be checked out too.

As we wait I keep my arm around this brave woman. I reassure her that everything will be OK. John has made a massive mistake, I have witnessed his violence and will be a convincing, confident, neutral witness in court, after all, it's part of my job and I have years of experience. Sadly witnesses are a rare thing in domestic violence cases. Between that and the kidnapping charges against him he will not be able to get anywhere near Jayne again for years.

I know that won't be enough to calm her completely, so once I've finished telling her all this I add one more thing. I make her a promise that I will be there for her, helping her any way I can to start a new life. Jayne may not know that I've never made such a promise to a victim before, or that I rarely make promises at all, because I take them very seriously when I do, but she's looking at my face and I hope she sees that I'm being earnest.

Now she's looking over my shoulder at something, I turn to find out what it is and see John being seated in a squad car.

Deliberately I slightly twist another quote from Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ "'... an idiot. Full of sound and fury,'..."

"...signifying nothing." Jayne finishes for me. "Thank you" she adds in a whisper and I hold her gently as the squad car drives away.

FIN

A/N I had to write this story. Review or not as you see fit.

Moonstarer.


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